The Missing Piece of a Piano By: Sean Roberts
Author's Note: All feedback is appreciated. Please send to seanr_13@yahoo.ca
Bar 5
On Monday morning she has some alcohol left over from the weekend. She went to a party with her friends and was the one to take the excess home. Faye corners Daniel in the parking lot and tells him that she wants to spend the day with him.
They end up at his house where together they cook breakfast. His parents will not be home until the evening, so the house is theirs. He does not show her any more of the house than the kitchen.
"Is it okay, you know, if you drink?" she asks. It is too late for this consideration, now that she has already put the idea into his head.
"Yes. It's not a big deal if I do it once in a while."
They remain in the kitchen. She now knows where the glasses are kept and she takes some out while he takes ice out of the freezer. They sit on the kitchen counter, the glasses and the drinks in between them. They are seventeen so they want to get drunk quickly. She pours two, somewhat equal proportions over the ice in the glass. They drink it down quickly. He gives up after the third one; she has five.
When the alcohol starts to go to her head she announces to him that she has not seen the rest of the house, and she immediately leaves the kitchen to find the stairs. He follows her, laughing each time she asks him "whose room is this?"
"I didn't know you had a brother," she says when they reach Mark's room. She is ready to move on but he stays, leaning against the white door frame, staring at the closet.
One day, after his brother took the violin from him, he was going through his brother's room out of boredom. He saw the violin placed carefully in Mark's closet. Now he stares at the closed door of the closet, wondering if the instrument is behind it now that they are in a different house. He decides that he does not want to know and he shuts the door. They go downstairs.
She sees the music room and lets out a squeal of excitement when she sees the piano. "It's beautiful!" she exclaims. She goes up to it and runs her hand along the bench and the piano to feel the smoothness of the polished wood. "I'm going to play something!" she announces childishly, sitting on the stool. Slowly she lifts the cover, snapping it into an open position. Suddenly, without warning, she presses down hard on a random mixture of keys. As soon as the sound begins to wear out she turns to Daniel and laughs.
He sits on the couch to her left. He wants her to either play properly or stop fooling around. Like Keith, Daniel has no sense of humour about music. She senses this from the look on his face and turns to him. "Okay. There's this piece I've been working on. I can't play very much of it, or very well, so you have to promise not to make fun of me."
"I promise," Daniel says, though he no longer wants her to play. He is not happy that she set out conditions with which she will play his instrument. He looks around the room, taking in the light, airy walls and pausing on a piece of art he has not noticed before. Then suddenly he hears a familiar note, and looks at her again.
Of course, all of the notes on the piano are familiar. He knows them all because he has played them all at one point or another. But starting with that note and continuing with the next one, and then the one after that, gives him a strong sense of déjà vu. He begins to wish desperately that he had not been drinking. The alcohol blocks the memory. And she is playing it slowly; he cannot catch the melody. Then suddenly she stops.
"Why'd you stop?" he asks quickly.
"That's all I know. I'm sorry."
"No, no it was very nice. Could you play it again?" She presses a key with her right hand, then the next one, and he immediately recognizes it. It is the Chopin piece he accidentally found in the library. But there is something different about it. She plays only with her right hand. Only the melody emerges from the piano and he longs to hear more. She stops again.
Daniel stands and walks over to her. He places the fingers of his left hand on top of some keys. "Start again," he says. She does so and he jumps in on the third note. Then suddenly, he forgets what he is supposed to play next. He takes his eyes off his hands and looks at her, trying to picture the music. And then his hand moves. He skips two notes as she has not stopped playing and continues. She looks at him too, surprised that he can provide the accompaniment from his head.
And then she stops. It is all she knows. But he does not. He replaces her right hand with his own and plays more of the piece. He goes for three more bars, throwing himself deeply into the music. The notes are bringing back a memory of something, but there are no sounds or images in his mind that tell him what it is. Exasperated he stops playing suddenly and quickly shuts the cover. What is it, he asks himself. He remembers that he was not using the pedals. The piece calls for them though he can not recall where or which ones. But this is not it. There is something else missing from the music.
The sound of Faye's faint clapping makes him turn to her. She is smiling. He stands up. "That was really good," he says. She laughs.
"I can't even play both hands! You know what I should do? Cut off your left hand. That way, whenever I want to play this piece, it'll be there to play the second half." They laugh and then together, they sink into one of the couches. The room is set up for an audience. It is a music room containing only one instrument. The couches are there not to create music but to absorb it.
He has his arm around her shoulders and they stop laughing. He can feel the round bone of her shoulder through her shirt. He wants to move his hand further down, to feel more of her arm, but he dares not because he does not know how she would feel about it. She turns to him and looks into his eyes. He suddenly feels sober, as if the alcohol is no longer influencing his mind. He can see, clearly, that she wants him to kiss her. The thought excites him but something stops him from doing it. He looks away and she suddenly feels un-comfortable in his arms.
"I should go," she says.
"I'll drive you."
"You can't."
"You're right. You'll be okay?"
"I don't live that far. I'll be fine walking. Thanks for breakfast."
"Thanks for playing."
"I should be saying that to you." He walks her to the door and watches her as she puts on her shoes. "I'll see you tomorrow." She walks out the door. He does not even wave good- bye.
He returns to his piano and lifts the cover. He plays the right hand of the first few bars and thinks of her. He plays it again and he can feel her shoulder. Not knowing where the notes are coming from he plays more. He manages to play through to the end, his left hand concentrating on another part of his body. He times his orgasm so that it occurs at the end of the piece. He smiles when the music stops. He now has half a song that reminds him of her.
The next day she asks him out. He is surprised; he thought it went without saying. Of course, is his response. He is glad that it is official, though he thinks back to the day before. She was obviously not sure what she wanted until then, or possibly until this morning. It was either his playing or her want for a kiss that made her ask.